Andraste's Return
by Blue-Inked Frost
Summary: Mortis deals with an ancient artefact. Challengefic, contains femslash.


**Disclaimer: **Not mine.

**A/N:** Based on a challenge given by LightningFlash.

* * *

The Dragon Priest paced restlessly in the cave he used as his sanctum. She was late, and he wondered if it spoke of some deeper issue within her Order, whether they condemned his actions as excessive, whether he had truly served the priests' Rede...

And then there was a sound, wood hitting stone, the tap of a staff on the entryway. He hastened to the entrance, placing his hand on a golden outline to raise the stone barrier. _Serenity_, he reminded himself, recalling the lessons in meditation which had served him so well, taught to him by the ancient priests in his childhood. She served the same order as he, and her offer had involved the furthering of his goals; there was no doubt that the visit would be favourable.

"Priestess Ceridwen." She stood in the stone passageway, regal in the formal crimson garb, her golden staff still raised. He offered her a half-bow in greeting. "I am Mortis."

She gave only a stiff nod in acknowledgement, and reached out a hand to grab her companion's elbow to usher her in. Both of them were masked, as he was; only the priestess' full red lips showed below her headdress, and the girl's entire face was hidden under a carved ceremonial mask.

"You came regarding the White Crucifix," Mortis ventured into the silence as the two of them arranged themselves around his table. "As I told you in our correspondence, my son and his friends were able to recover it. I presume your Order approves?"

Ceridwen gave another nod, and then allowed a warm smile to spread across those full lips. "Of course we approve, Mortis. You have done very well indeed."

"I'm glad to hear that. It is so rare to have contact with the other Orders these days, and I must confess I was the only one at first who understood the threat that Word Paynn posed to our ideals..."

"Our dear Word has been quite the thorn in your side, hasn't he? Not to mention that son of his." Ceridwen sidled towards him, her robes creaking slightly as the flesh below them moved.

"Yes." Mortis swallowed. "The Dragon Booster is the only way I could have dealt with the situation."

"You are to be congratulated." Her cleavage rose and fell in its tight encasement as she spoke, and Mortis looked instead to her companion, whose white dress, he realised, had only initially appeared modest. "Where is the artefact now?"

"I--I keep it safely with the other objects of power I possess," Mortis said, hoping she wouldn't notice his stutter. It had to be the perfume she wore, sweet-smelling with an edge of something fiercer, affecting him somehow.

"Wonderful." A red-nailed hand arranged itself around his wrist. "Shall we go and see?"

Mortis glanced at the girl, still standing before them, the direction of her glance impossible to tell from her mask. "Should we include your...apprentice?"

"Your secrets will be safe with me. Vestalia, will you be a good little girl while we're gone?"

The girl bowed her head. "Of course...Mistress."

Mortis could have sworn there was a note of mockery in her voice, but Ceridwen seemed not to notice as her grip tightened around his wrist. "Let us see, then."

He led her to the small annexe, through the darkened passageway that led to his secret storeroom. Their footsteps echoed loudly, and Ceridwen's robes glowed to provide further illumination as they walked in the near-darkness.

"Are you the High Priestess of your order?" he asked her, aware of how closely her body was pressed to his.

"You flatter me," she purred. "I am merely another servant--of _our_ order."

"And which order did you say yours was?" They were nearly there, now; it was just three steps to the right, and tap the rock on the left five times to activate. Her warm breath dallied across the side of his face.

"It is an ancient order of priestesses, dating to the old days of the Red Draconium Empire," she told him in that deliciously rich voice of hers, managing to make the historical statement sound like a proposition. "A scholar such as you will no doubt guess..."

"The...perhaps the Order of the Blooded Flame?" he asked, desperately attempting to recall the long lists of ancient priestly orders his masters had forced him to memorize. "Order of the Purifying Inferno?" He was sure the first had been disbanded at some point, if he was not confusing it with the Order of the Spilled Ichor, and he wasn't completely sure whether the second existed or was one of Word's jokes...

"The first," she responded. Her hand squeezed his as though to congratulate him. "We prefer to keep ourselves...behind the scenes, bar when the more gifted among our brethren require assistance."

"I'm most...flattered," he said, trying to keep his voice steady as she pressed her cleavage to his back. He paused in front of the door, and performed the necessary ritual to signal it to open. "Do you believe this is the only way to activate the crucifix?"

"Ancient texts we possess have it so." He could see her smile in the glittering light from her robes. "You may bring it out, if you please."

She stood aside as he went into the storeroom; there was nothing but pure black behind the light from her robe, the darkness keeping his secrets. Faint illumination shone from the centre of the cave, granting him just enough light to distinguish between the precious artefacts he held safely here. He selected the White Crucifix, wrapping it in a black cloth before removing it from its position between the Veritas Pendant and the Xenolith Shard.

"I have it," he said, feeling the gentle pulse of its dormant powers beneath the protective wrapping. The precaution was unnecessary under the circumstances, but his training had a stern hold on him still. "Is your apprentice prepared?"

"But of course," she said. "Are you going to lock up here, or do you plan to return it?"

"I'll lock up," he replied. "Hold on."

He felt her eyes on him as he performed the sealing ritual, making the stone walls close over the entrance as though it did not exist, and could not resist wondering about their colour, soft brown or diamond-sharp blue or even red like her warm lips...

"Allow me to lead us back," she said, taking his arm again. "My order is fond of indulging in these little exercises in memory."

She walked a little more slowly than he, perhaps due to uncertainty of the path, and once again held herself close to him, her hand pulling him towards her. It had been some years since a woman had paid him this much attention, and he felt it was excusable to allow his mind to drift in recollection of his younger and less careworn days, where more than one woman (and man) was willing to grant their attention and more to a rising star of the racing tracks...

"And perhaps upon the ritual's conclusion, we shall permit ourselves some leisure," she said as they approached the room in which her apprentice had dutifully remained.

"Yes. Of course. There are too few of us," he said, trying to steer his mind and body away from the spike of excitement which had arisen from her words. "But first let us conclude the ritual."

The girl appeared to have moved not a claw, standing quietly in the same position as they had left her, slim and slightly goosebumped in the scanty white shift.

"Vestalia, stand before the quarter-rune," Ceridwen told the apprentice, who moved to obey. "Mortis, you will set the Crucifix in its appropriate position--and you must hold her in the position, to facilitate the ceremony."

He went behind the girl, and wrapped one of his hands around each pale arm, holding them spread apart. She pressed back against him as Ceridwen made her preparations, and even through his robes he could feel her cool, firm body. He wondered if she was doing it deliberately, pushing her taut buttocks against him and breathing in shorter gasps, and hoped his priestly garment hid the evidence of his arousal.

Ceridwen lit four small braziers, filling the room with that sweet-spice scent similar to her perfume, and arranged them around the Crucifix, one for each limb. She drew the brass knife from her belt and raised it above her head, muttering a few words in ancient Draconian that Mortis, in his distracted state, mentally translated as "the pen of my aunt has been stolen by the dog of the gardener" (which couldn't be right, of course, but he didn't care as he watched her gesturing with the knife in reckless abandon with the girl's body shuddering into his).

"Now let us activate the power," she said. The light of the braziers caught the eyes of her mask, making them glow a red brighter than her lips.

The knife flashed through the air into the girl's arm. She cried out in a soft gasp, her body bucking against him as he held her firmly, though the wound was small, a shockingly red drop against her pale skin. It was an ancient rite, and this was a far gentler version than was once performed; he felt as though past glories were coming to life once again as he watched the line of red ooze towards the Crucifix.

It paused on the edge of her arm, a scarlet bead following a crimson thread to its destiny, hesitating before falling to its place in the centre of the White Crucifix.

Ceridwen flung her head back, and released a wild cry to echo through the cave, as the girl struggled loose from him to stand next to her mistress, her part completed. He could feel the power around him, pulsing and arousing, and trusted that the ritual had finally managed to restore the power to the ancient artefact.

The priestess relaxed, her head drooping for a second, before she made her way to him and placed one hand on his chest. "Very well done," she said to him. "You have empowered the ancient relic and granted us a valuable tool in our battle. Tell me, how do you feel?"

"Perfectly fine, thank you," he said, though it was difficult to focus in the thickly scented smoke from the braziers.

"Are you...certain?" Her hand trailed further down his body until there was no way she could have failed to miss his state of interest.

"Yes, I think so," he said. She seemed intrigued rather than repulsed, from the faint smile on her lips, and pushed him against the wall, rubbing herself against him.

"Some relaxation is often the best way to recover from rituals," she whispered into his ear, and then moved her face close to his. "Shall we echo the celebrations of the priests of old?"

"Yes," was all he could gasp out as he felt her mouth on his chin, silkily enveloping it and then adding slight pressure with her teeth. The smoke was thickening, still; he could no longer see the white of the girl's dress.

"We can always test the Crucifix later," he heard her murmur as her hands started to feel under his robe, and he voiced his agreement in a wordless cry. This had to be the perfect way to finish an ancient ritual, he thought as his right hand cupped the warm flesh, sketching small circles as his other hand attempted to locate the fastenings of her clothing. "Magna Draconis, you're good, so _big_...and perhaps we can invite my girl, yes, I can tell you'd like that idea..." Her skilled hands did not pause in their movements, and he wrestled with her garments, trying to find the way to touch her, too much for him after so long. He was going to burst, Drakkus help him; she had to be more-than-human, an ancient seductress or succubus perhaps, rising above him with flame-reddened lips and shining armour tightly enveloping a bosom rising and falling with her movements...

"Are you ready to leave, Mistress?" he heard a cool voice say, and saw the white of the girl's dress reappear in the gloom. Her hands were clasped behind her back, making her look like a child delivering a lesson, and the thought made him pause.

"Very," Ceridwen replied, and then he saw her raise a hand to strike him.

"What..." He barely had time to escape her blow, rolling out from under her, struggling to refasten his robes as the feeling of arousal rapidly departed from him. "What are you doing?"

She smiled coldly. "It's time we were gone, Mortis dear. Not that it hasn't been fun." She struck then, with a flawless kick aimed at him; he dodged again, and started to muster the energy for a mag-attack.

"You..." He stared around in puzzlement. What had happened to them? His glance fell upon the girl again as Ceridwen advanced upon him, and then he knew.

Footsteps echoing behind them. The white dress disappearing and reappearing.

"What did you steal from me?" He fired the strongest mag-fire he could manage without a dragon; Ceridwen--if that was her real name--ducked, though the edge of it set her sleeve afire. She bent to bat it out, and he dived towards her, bringing her down with a kick. "Give it back!" He turned to the girl, letting energy gather around his hands a second time. "Show me what you took."

She lashed out then, bringing her hands from behind her back and landing a kick firmly in his ribs that sent him to the ground.

_The amulet of the Fire Booster. The _possessed_ amulet of the Fire Booster._ The thought froze him for an instant, and then he swept out with his legs to bring the girl falling next to him. She fell on top of him, and he grabbed her arms for the second time that night, not caring about harming her this time as the energy fizzled against her. She tried to struggle against him, but his grip was too strong; he heard the amulet slip from her hand to the ground, which was a relief. She was still fighting, though, and it was all he could do to keep hold of her.

"Put down my _colleague_, if you please," he heard Ceridwen's voice say, and then he felt a sudden blow to his chest; in shock, he released one of the girl's arms and felt her palm slam brutally into his neck. He rolled to the side, reaching out for Ceridwen, and knocked her down as well. The amulet was in her hands, and he reached out for it, fighting to take it back. And then the girl joined in, tugging it in a third direction, the three of them struggling in a confused heap across the stone ground.

"We agreed I'd have it! Let go!" Ceridwen cried.

"You think I agreed to help just so a two-bit mercenary could get her claws on it? I've known it was meant for me ever since we rescued it!" Vestalia yelled back as she kept her hands wrapped around it.

"I'm the heir to what's left of the Empire! It's mine!"

_We rescued it._ He wanted to pursue that thought, but could not concentrate in the battle, with their limbs interweaving and their bodies tangling as they fought. He struck out with his elbow at Ceridwen's head, and felt her helmet dislodge; he stared at her as a head of bright red hair and a pair of blinking brown eyes appeared.

_Pyrrah. Of the Dragon Flares._

"Let me take it, and then we'll work together!" the Crew-leader called to her companion.

"No, I'll take it!" the girl cried back, as a crack widened in her mask from the struggle. Some of her forehead showed through, and then a lock of hair...

_Blue_ hair. Kitt Wann. His son's girlfriend.

The surprise caused him to lose concentration for an instant. He saw Kitt's fist approaching his face, and then the blow hit, and then there was nothing but blackness.

* * *

She sat perched on the fallen priest's legs, still pulling at the amulet fallen from his hand, while Pyrrah was seated over his chest.

"Will you just--hand--it--"

There was a sound like a tornado hurtling through the small cave.

"What was that?"

"_At last_!" a melodious voice cried in an accent unfamiliar to them. "_Activation_!"

The imagery flooded into their minds as though they were hooked directly to another world.

_Andraste, child of the Red Draconium Empire, soldier in bloody sands, general across burning battles, Fire Booster of legend. Warrior. Returned to the world at long last._

"_Centuries I have been trapped, and am finally free! I thank you._"

Further imagery flashed into both their heads as though in gratitude, _the bright taste of ripe redberries spiced with cinnan and cassia, riding faster than flames through a silver sea, standing on a tall tower with a strong breeze flowing as though to carry everything flying free with it, and lastly passion unfettered, a red-haired woman crying her ecstasy to the stars as a fairer-haired woman's hands touched her..._

"You..."

"_Loved once, yes. You must share my power between you, and consider this an encouragement. And now I have an afterlife to be off to. Farewell._"

It came as a smirk directed through their brains. _The same two women, enthusiastically entwined in an impressively convoluted position, the energy of their pairing radiating from them..._

And then there was nothing but a faintly glowing amulet between them, its red echoed by Kitt's cheeks as she finished shaking the broken mask from her face.

Pyrrah was the first to speak. "Long-dead heroes should not have sex lives," she declared, shaking out her hair. "Still, I can't say it was not--intriguing."

"Yes. Did she mean we'd have to share the powers forever?" Kitt asked, trying to quell the heat in her cheeks.

"I think so." Pyrrah released the amulet, then flexed her hand; it hovered between them, humming slightly. "It's a shame that priest knows who we are."

"No. I know who he is." Kitt grimaced. "He's Artha's father."

Pyrrah laughed. "That's one to give you issues for life." She reached out a hand to rest on Kitt's shoulder. "Though I can think of a way around that particular problem..."

"Yes. I think I'm thinking of it too." Kitt stood, letting the hand fall from her shoulder, and reached to take the Crucifix from the table. "Still. I might get Artha to try to activate this, in case your idea actually works."

"And then you'll return to me." Pyrrah raised herself to her feet, walking to her as though drawn by the amulet between them.

Kitt blinked. "You're still wearing that ancient aphrodisiac perfume, you know."

"You said you were immune to it." She gave a beguiling smile, though her lipstick had been smudged during the fight.

"I am. Mostly." Kitt sighed, and then returned the smile. "Release the fire, then."

A sudden warmth grew, small golden flames dancing over both of them without burning, pulling them closer.

"That's quite...nice." Kitt took a step closer to her companion. "I could get used to this, I think."

"As could I." Pyrrah lightly grasped both of Kitt's hands in hers. "Care to start now?"

"Yes. But first...the pen of your aunt, Pyrrah?"

"It was all I could think of at the time. Perhaps the tongue of my mouth instead?"

The brightness around them glowed.

_fin._

**A/N:** Concrit and general feedback are very much appreciated. The challenge was for a Mortis/Kitt/Pyrrah threesome; this doesn't quite fit, but I'd like to think it comes close enough.


End file.
